1 My foes assault me with relentless hate;
Hear me, my God; thy favour I intreat.
2 O save me from the vile insidious snare,
The secret toils they 'gainst my life prepare.
3 Their tongues are whetted like their pointed swords;
More deep, than arrows, wound their bitter words:
4 That at the just in secret they may aim,
And strike, secure, the heart that's free from blame.
5 They, firm in mischief, lay the private snare,
And, self-encourag'd, laugh away their fear:
6 Mischief their ev'ry thought, their sole employ,
Mischief they make their solace and their joy.
7 But not from thee can they their crimes conceal;
They soon the arrows of thy wrath shall feel;
8 They by their own envenom'd tongues shall die
With dread amaze shall they, that view it, fly,
9 The justice of an angry God shall own,
And make the terrors of thy vengeance known.
10 While righteous men, well-grounded in their hope,
Shall give their faithful souls their fullest scope,
Still trust in thee, and glory in thy name,
And hail their gracious God with loud acclaim.